From beyond our reach
by likingthistoomuch
Summary: When things go weird at the end of a case, all of Molly's friends rally to help her. Will Sherlock do whats needed?


If he hadn't seen it with it with his very own eyes, he would've laughed at anyone reciting the incident. But it had happened, in front him. And after a long time, John admits that he was actually scared.

They had been on a case, chasing the criminal and finally catching him in the derelict part of that old, abandoned building. John had stood guard over as medics took care of the man's wounds and Sherlock spoke with Greg. He hadn't a clear idea, but for some reason Molly Hooper had arrived along with Greg, and was standing a bit apart from all the action.

John had been about to approach her when he noticed her turn as if in response to some sound. Turning back to face him, a frown on her face, she had greeted him and was mid-sentence when she had again whipped her head. This time when she faced him, she had actually looked a bit nervous. Rubbing her hands, she made as if to come near him when she stopped mid stride. A sudden change had come over her body language; her face had blanked out in a weird way, she had jerked her head sideways again and had started walking slowly further into the belly of the old building. Not responding to him calling her name she had carried on walking, turning this way and that till they had reached what seemed like the boundary of the ruins.

John could see lights of cars passing by the boundary but funnily he couldn't hear a thing. Molly had stopped in front of what seemed like a part of a wall, staring up at the broken masonry. John had quickened his pace till he was brought short.

Her hand extended, the air around her seemingly shimmering with …something, Molly stood tilting her head this way and that. If it weren't for the fact that he could see her lips shut, John would've sworn she was in deep conversation. Her face then broke into a lovely smile. She nodded and seemed to move closer to the wall.

He didn't know why but he suddenly had the feeling that he had to interrupt whatever was going on, that it was _essential_ he do it right then.

Inhaling deeply, he called out her name in the strictest tone that he had used on the boys while serving. "Molly," his voice whipped her name.

She had snapped her head towards him. She looked ok but her eyes... There was something so cold, so angry, so disturbing about her eyes then that hadn't he seen horrors perpetrated by his fellow man all his life, John Watson would've fled the scene. Gladly so.

But he stood his ground, ordering her to turn around and head back the way they had returned. And she waged a war against him, oh she did. There was a silent battle of wills being fought right there, but he stood his ground until the moment he could visibly see her getting her bearings back. With a confused look, Molly looked around her before taking the hand he proffered and heading back towards the police lights.

It was not before John was in bed and narrating the incident to Mary that he acknowledged the fact that the battle of gazes had driven him to the brink of exhaustion, that the most horrifying incidences of his life had raced in front of his eyes like a movie, that he had been shit scared _of_ and _for_ Molly.

"Oh dear Lord," were Mary's whispered words that were the last that he heard before slipping into deep sleep.

When he woke up, he was shocked to realise it was almost late afternoon.

"Hello love, how are you feeling?" The beloved voice of his wife greeted him.

"Mary, did I sleep the whole day? Did you drug me?"

Her smile was kind yet hard, "No John, you just needed the sleep to regain the strength spent last night. Now eat up, you'll be hungry."

Which was an understatement; John was ravenous. But he also had questions that he asked while eating.

"What happened? And you seem disturbed. Was it about what happened last night?"

Mary sighed, looking at her hands in her lap. John could see she was gathering her thoughts; her hesitation meant she might be thinking about her _past_.

"John, in my previous _work,_ I have been privy to scenes and experiences that sometimes I myself have a hard time understanding and believing. What you said, about Molly's behaviour in the ruins…I have lost someone close to a similar incident. We found no trace of her; she just disappeared. There have been a few cases where dead bodies turned up, but basically it never ends well. We need help, and luckily I know just the person."

"What are you even saying?"

"We are going out to Imperial College. We are to meet a Professor Shastri there."

The only further information he could get from Mary was that similar incidences had occurred in urban as well as rural areas, and mostly in ruins. John knew it was important else Mary wouldn't be this tense. Though exactly how important and serious she was he understood only on meeting Sherlock and _Mycroft_ outside the Professor's offices.

Professor Shastri was an expert in Natural Sciences, a small but energetic bundle of a woman in her mid-40s. She got to the point without any delay.

"So, we are here 'coz of what happened last evening. Interesting, very interesting and so close too," she rapidly spoke, her eyes conveying her excitement. Once everyone was introduced, Mary got right to business.

"John was the one who pulled Molly back last night. He looked white as a sheet when he came home and slept throughout the day. He was ravenous when he woke up," she rattled off without emotion.

"And what about the woman, Molly?" the professor asked.

"I haven't been able to contact her but her boss said she appeared to be tired and lost in her own thoughts today, preferring the quiet of the morgue than the lab."

"Hmm. Avoiding contamination of thoughts, preferring to go through whatever communication she had last time over and over again. Typical behaviour. From what you said of your husband Mary, he seems to be one tough man. I have known people to take days to recover."

"Yes, lovely, John is a toughie and Molly seems to have an off day. And we seem to assume supernatural things are involved. Fabulous! Halloween approaches, though last I checked this was still July. Have the celebrations started early this year?" John was surprised Sherlock had been silent for this long…he had expected the snark to appear by the second syllable.

But Prof Shastri seemed to take it in her stride. She just smiled and opened a book that was already on the table. She showed them certain drawings and sketches, "Sherlock, who do you think made these drawings?"

"School children, or even college students, for a Halloween party?"

She laughed and then continued, "That's what they look like isn't it? Monsters, ghouls, creatures from the netherworld. Sorry to disappoint you but these are real creatures, found in the ocean depths. And not even the deepest part of the sea. These are fauna that are found in the depths of the Mediterranean. You see Sherlock we do share our world with many, many other beings. Some we understand, most we don't. And what we don't understand, we call monsters. Of course that doesn't discount the fact that many of these indeed are monstrous for their peers. The point I want to make is, just because we haven't seen them doesn't mean they don't exist. They do exist, and have since ages."

The professor turned to Mycroft then, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"Well Professor, as you asked, the building's history is telling. Before being abandoned or rather going to ruins due to the owners going broke, it was last inhabited by Lord Melvin, a man desperate to leave an heir behind as he was the last of his kin. But it was not to be; his engagement ended due to his fiancée's death and then he failed to find a bride due to his dwindling fortune. After his death, his house was used by addicts and homeless people before the council cleaned it up."

"Thank your Mr Holmes. It doesn't matter what the man before was, the being now just focuses on its wants. And they target their prey very astutely. Is your friend single, with very little immediate family?"

"Yes," Sherlock responded before anyone. "But she isn't alone, if that's what you are implying."

"It doesn't matter what I imply Sherlock. It's what the being reads off her that matters. "

"So what do you suggest?" There was a mild decrease in his hostility, as if he was suddenly interested in what she was saying.

"I get that you find this difficult to believe. I have seen more than a few such cases, as am sure your brother would corroborate. But you all can help by doing certain things. They are simple actions; make your friend feel wanted, involve her more in whatever you all plan, make her feel that she is an important and irreplaceable member of your circle. Continue to do this while I visit the place with my team and see if we can have the being _transferred_ to its proper realm."

And so it began; the effort by all of them to involve Molly more in their lives. But it was proving to be more difficult than they predicted, especially with Sherlock not still convinced she was in any danger.

As was also confirmed by Mike, since the evening of the incident (as they now called it), Molly seemed a bit preoccupied. She was committing silly mistakes and would retire to the morgue every free minute she had. It was proving increasingly difficult to get her to work in the lab or even go home.

Also she wasn't the most amiable to their increased interest to involve her in their social life. She was reluctant at best and adamant at worst to spend time with them; Mary had used Eve as the final carrot to get her to agree to join them for dinner.

But the most resistance Molly gave, when she almost turned angry was when Sherlock insisted she join him for experiments at Baker Street. She had resisted and protested and outright argued against him taking her there. But she had eventually given in.

Mary was at Baker Street that day, it was the day Eve spent some time with Mrs Hudson. Sherlock had stepped out for a moment while she was chatting with Molly over tea. The change that came over Molly was visible; her eyes had hardened mid-sentence, she threw the cake in her hand on the floor and outright snarled at Mary. It was luck that Mary had Sherlock on speed dial and had already dialled him before Molly glanced at the phone. It had then grown hot till it had actually smoked and burst into fire. Mary had yelped and jumped back, at which Molly had grabbed her bag and had run down the stairs and out of Baker Street.


End file.
